


A Guide to Saving The World for Those Born from Great Evil

by luckyfiftytwo



Category: Charmed (TV 1998)
Genre: Gen, oh look another charmed next gen spin off!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckyfiftytwo/pseuds/luckyfiftytwo
Summary: Daughter of a Charmed One. Daughter of the great demon Belthazor. The Source's Heir. All around sexy bitch. Meet Dency Halliwell as she really tries her best in the endless amounts of issues she keeps getting herself tangled into.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Step One: Know Who To Call When You're Beat Up

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm @phoebehalliwell on tumblr no i do not shut up

Dency was passed out on the couch. Not her couch, for the record, but she had spent so many nights sleeping there that she felt like she held some sort of claim to it. The hall light switched on, splashing light over her distressed form. Well, the skinny jeans were already distressed, but the cuts lining her leather jacket, neck, and face were definitely new. She grumbled and her lids fluttered as she tried to rotate away from the light, still not waking up. A man’s shadow passed over her, blocking her from the bright light, and she rested again, nestling her face into one of the pillows on the couch.

Jack, a sandy blond in hospital scrubs, looked down at the beat-up witch crashing on his sofa. At this point he should honestly just expect this. He turned back to the hallway. Jack shot a look back at Dency, words almost playing on his lips, but thought better about whatever it was he was going to say. He flicked off the light and made his way to the kitchen in the dark.

Dency awoke to the smell of coffee and toast. Her eyes pried themselves open and, with enormous effort, she was able to bring the coffee table in front of her into focus. A mug of coffee, cream and sugar already added, and a small plate of avocado toast sat in front of her.

She led her feet fall to the ground, knocking over her heeled black boots she had the decency to take off the night before, and pushed her up her upper half at the same time, forcing herself into an upright sitting position. Headrush. Her hand flew up to her forehead as she waited for the world to come into focus again. Her eyes locked in on the toast. A soft smile broke across her lips as she pulled the plate closer to her. “Thanks,” she called back, not bothering to turn around.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jack said, washing a mug in the sink, “I haven’t even patched you up.”

Dency turned to face her friend. “I’m saying thank you for the food. You get another thank you after I’m patched up,” she said, mouth full of food.

With the kitchen light on, Dency’s face finally got the proper lighting to really display her beat up state. Her bleach blonde hair stuck to her face in some places, sealed there by dried blood. There were an assortment of small cuts all over her, but they looked deep. Some of them had sliced through the black leather of her jacket to her skin. And she looked tired. Bone tired. There was normal 24 year old tired, the kind you get from staying up ’til 3am on your phone while living exclusively on a diet of food from Trader Joe’s frozen isle, hard cider, and weed, and then there was Dency Tired (the kind you get from fighting off countless evils from a very young age while also battling your own internal demons (not a metaphor!) and yeah also living on a diet of food from Trader Joe’s frozen isle, hard cider, and weed).

“The fuck happened to you?” Jack asked. He tried to sound disgusted, but his worry snuck in.

“Me? You should see the other guy.” Dency turned away from the kitchen light in favor of the mug of coffee for her on the table. She chugged it, downing it all in one go. 

“Was the other guy a pack of gerbils?” Jack asked, rinsing the soap off the mug he was cleaning and setting into the dish drying rack. He looked over at Dency, who seemed to be intentionally cowering from the light. Jack made his way over to the living room, turning on lights as he went.

“Close,” Dency replied. “A pack of imps.” He passed Dency, ducking into a bathroom at the end of the hallway, then paused, turning back, a look of disbelief but mostly disappointment on his face.

“Imps are a thing now?”

“You can’t say ‘that’s a thing now?’ every time I tell you something exists. They’ve always been things, you just didn’t know about them until now,” Dency answered as Jack disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Yeah,” Jack responded. “But imps?”

“Don’t worry, honey, there are much worse things out there,” Dency said as she tried to pull herself to her feet. She had the intent of refilling her coffee, but the world currently spinning around her was going to make that a bit difficult. She braced herself on the couch, groaning.

“Sit back down!” Jack’s voice called out from the bathroom. “I’ll refill your coffee for you.” Because of course he knew exactly why she was trying to get up. Dency grumbled, opting to perch on the armrest of the couch in a quasi standing position. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. A couple breaths in and out, and, with some of her strength regained, her eyelids fluttered open to Jack setting up his first aid kit on the coffee table opposite her. Jack turned Dency’s head towards the light, studying some of her cuts. He gently pulled at her skin with his thumb, seeing how they moved. Dency sat there patiently (get it?).

“The bleeding’s stopped, which is good, but some of these still seem pretty deep.”

“Stitches deep?”

“Call Penn deep?” Jack tested the waters.

“Haha,” Dency laughed. “No.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You probably won’t need stitches,” he said, grabbing Dency’s mug off the coffee table and heading into the kitchen. “If you do, just come to me again.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Dency called over her shoulder, head following him into the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack grumbled, pouring some fresh coffee into the mug, adding in a spoonful of sugar and a splash of half and half.

“I’m serious,” Dency said.

“I know,” Jack replied, grabbing a fresh cloth from a drawer and soaking it in water. He brought the two items over, handing Dency the cloth first. Dency scrubbed at her face, trying to clean off the crust and blood from the night before. She ruffled her hair, layered into a shaggy mullet, trying to cross over from the “victim of a gerbil attack” look to a more “sloven and sexy” vibe. It almost worked.

Face clean, Jack ripped open a couple antiseptic wipes and started to clean Dency’s wounds. She didn’t flinch as the disinfectant came in contact with her cuts. “So did you get ’em?” Jack asked.

“The imps? Yeah,” Dency replied, going for her mug of coffee.

“Okay, so that once again raises the question-”

“You can say no, you know,” Dency said, pulling away from Jack’s hand. “If you don’t wanna do this, I’ll go to Penn.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Jack said.

There was a beat as Dency kept her distance, drinking her coffee. Jack handed her a couple antiseptic wipes. Dency set her mug down, shrugging off her shredded jacket and starting to clean the cuts on her arms. “So what are you saying?” she asked.

Jack popped open a bottle of ointment and started gently dabbing it on Dency’s cuts. “You always say you don’t like going to Penn because she never leaves well enough alone, something that clearly runs in the family-”

“Yeah, doy.” The interruption was meant to undercut Jack’s well-placed jab with some sheer stupidity. It didn’t quite work.

“-and you think,” Jack said, turning Dency’s face to the other side with a knuckle as he continued to apply ointment, “that whatever business you’re currently wrapped up in, she’s going to get wrapped up in.”

“I know any business that I’m wrapped up in-”

“And that it’s your job, as the eldest,” Jack plowed on, “to protect her, which, as a side note, you’re the eldest by a couple months, so it doesn’t really count.”

“Oh, but when you’re eldest by thirty-eight days, it definitely counts?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Jack didn’t miss a beat, as if that shouldn’t even have been a question. Dency tried to scowl at him, but she didn’t want to move too much out of position as he was applying ointment. “But,” Jack said, “if you vanquished the imps, there really shouldn’t be any more business to get wrapped up in, meaning there should be no reason not to go to Penn.” He pulled his hands back, done with the ointment.

Dency used this time to readjust herself, feathers clearly rustled. “Okay, so, first of all,” she started, “imps have an imp master, something they are tied to. Kill the master, kill the imps.” Jack grabbed a packet of small circular band-aids, fishing a couple out of the box. Dency grabbed the box and took a fistfull, ripping them open and slapping them anywhere she could feel a cut. “But imp masters aren’t necessarily known for their brains, so the general rule of thumb is: if imps are attacking, they’re on contract. So, while the imps are vanquished and the imp master is vanquished, there is still an unknown, higher power at play here, meaning there is still business to get wrapped up in.” Dency ripped at a new round of bandages and hissed, pulling away a finger with the smallest nick on it. Jack didn’t seem to react, he just took her hand and wrapped the bandage he currently had around her new paper cut. Dency decompressed a bit. “Thanks,” she said. Jack didn’t respond, he just continued to apply bandages.

The pressure level seemed to have dropped — Dency had explained herself; Jack had accepted the explanation. No more needed to be said. He applied the last band-aid to Dency’s jawline.

There were still small cuts and scrapes exposed, but Dency was already covered in thirty-five small, circular bandages on her. Any more would be overkill. Also, they had burned through Jack’s stock.

“I’ll buy you some more bandages,” Dency promised.

“You don’t have to,” Jack said, closing up his first aid kit.

Dency killed off the rest of her coffee as Jack left to go put the kit back in the bathroom. “Hey,” she said, “do you need a ride to work?”

“I’m alright; you didn’t eat up too much of my time,” replied Jack, confirming the hour on his wristwatch. “This really wasn’t that bad. Unlike last time.” The last sentence was tacked on, almost under the breath, more to himself than a jab at her.

“I cleaned up all the blood stains!” Dency protested.

“I wasn’t worried about the blood stains,” Jack said. The statement carried a somber weight to it.

Dency settled her energy again, hands wrapped around her now empty mug. Her eyes didn’t meet Jack’s. Instead they fell down to the carpet — a carpet that, had it not been for magical inventions, would be stained with over a liter of her blood.

Jack took Dency’s mug from her; the pair still hadn’t made eye contact. He refilled the cup and fixed it the way she liked it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He’d do this all a thousand times again.

“Just remember to leave the mug in the sink,” Jack said, handing the drink to her. He grabbed a jacket and threw it over his scrubs. “And call me if anything gets worse.”

“Will do,” Dency replied. “Have a good day at work!” She shot a smile over to her friend, eyes sparkling. The caffeine seemed to be kicking in.

Jack offered the smallest of smiles in return, almost an unconscious action, and grabbed his keys out of a bowl on the counter. “See you when I see you.”

“See you then.”

Jack left. Dency stood up off her perch on the arm rest, just to test if she could. She looked around the room, absentmindedly. With a sigh, she sat back down on the couch. She tucked the coffee mug in between her legs for security and proceeded to crack all of her knuckles, her neck, and then her spine. She scrunched up her face a couple times, feeling how the different band aids pulled. System diagnostic completed, she downed her third cup of coffee and set the mug down on the table.

Dency grabbed her fucked up leather jacket off the ground and pulled it over herself, nestling herself into a tiny egg in the corner of the couch. She rested her head against the back of the couch, not closing her eyes, but letting her tired energy wash over her regardless. It was clear her guard was down. Her brown eyes scanned lazily around the apartment, not catching on anything of note. There was never anything of note, everything about Jack was predictable. Or maybe she had just known him for two decades. She let her eyes close, resting. The peace only lasted a couple seconds. Dency’s eyes began moving under her lids as her brain kicked back into its normal investigative mode. It didn’t matter that Phoebe had tried to teach her meditation, Dency’s mind never quieted. Besides, it was better to keep it noisy up there; it drowned out any other voices that might take up residence in her head. She sorted through her thoughts, trying to make sense of it all. Only one concrete idea rose to the surface: this would be easier to do at home. Dency took a resigned breath, opening her eyes as flames broke out all over her body, rapidly covering her whole. There was a soft crackle as she vanished with the fire, leaving only the mug and plate her toast had been on behind. 

For a moment, the apartment lay still. Dency seemed to take with her a teeming chaotic energy. The stillness wasn’t for long, though. Flames burst out in the apartment again, giving way to a fully-formed Dency, grabbing the plate and mug before the fire had even gone out.

She carried the items into the kitchen, placing them in the sink. Fire once again broke out on her skin, but was quickly extinguished as she paused, looking at her dirty dishes. She flipped on the hot water and grabbed a sponge. It was the least she could do, after all.


	2. Step Two: Pitch Your Bad Ideas to a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I still can't believe ao3 makes be do both chapter titles And chapter summaries. I'm so bad at these. Dency's trying to crack her case with her roomate Dove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an unusually fast update from me but please keep your expectations low for the future ♥ i'm @phoebehalliwell on tumblr and @henrymitchells on twitter

Red sharpie. Big X. And a grumble.

Dency stood back looking at her murder wall. Collections of photos, newspaper clippings, writing scribbled on scraps of paper all layer interwoven in a mess of tape and varying colors of string. An old receipt with “Imps (Imp Master)” scrawled across it in black pen bore a fresh red mark, but Dency had nothing to add to the small piece of binder paper that it was linked to. “Something evil, obvi,” was still the only piece of text on the page.

Dency traced the red string from the imp receipt, landing on a newspaper clipping. It was an obit, informing of the passing of an Ernie Bedrin, 86. He worked as a janitor at Bay Area Oil & Gas. Dency flopped on her bed, newspaper still in hand. She stared at the text, hoping to see something she missed, some extra clue to pull it all together, but all she could focus on was the rivers running down the page, traveling through the spacing in the text — jagged, disorganized, unhelpful. Groaning, she let the paper flutter to the ground. 

One single yellow eye opened underneath Dency’s bed, locking on the newspaper. The eye narrowed, and the creature swiftly pounced on the clipping, satisfied with the small  _ crunch  _ noise it made under its paw.

“Hey, Bozo, you got any brilliant ideas for me?” Dency flipped over on her stomach, staring at the large black cat on her murder board clipping. Bozo gazed back at her with his single eye, relatively vacant. “Yeah… thought not. Can I have the piece back?” Dency gently lowered her hand, petting Bozo’s head as he stepped back off the newspaper. “Maybe I should try a seance,” Dency mused, grabbing the obit. Bozo’s paw lashed out at Dency’s hand, leaving scratch marks. “Jeez!” Dency glared at Bozo. “It was just an idea. No need to kick me when I’m down.”

Dency dragged herself off the bed, moving to return the clipping to its rightful place on the murder board. “Besides, if anyone else found out, they’d have my ass.”

Bozo went over to Dency as she pinned the clipping back, rubbing his head against her shins. He purred softly. Dency looked down at her cat. “I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not.” She stared at her small imp-centric section, disappointed. She tried to take a step back and almost tripped not stepping on Bozo, who was now making small circles around her legs. “Useless bastard man,” Dency muttered, lifting up Bozo by his little cat armpits. “Okay. Tell me what you see.” She held Bozo level with her murder board, hoping for some good ol’ familiar wisdom. Bozo had never been strong in that department. The one eyed cat stared blankly at the display in front of him.  _ Meow. _ He started to lick at Dency’s hand. “Yeah, I know. It’s a weird one.” She set her cat back down and he swiftly darted out of her room.

“Oh, good morning, my beautiful-floofa-loofa-prince! Did you single-handedly solve Dency’s case?” a voice rang out from beyond Dency’s door.

“No, he didn’t do shit!” Dency yelled back.

“Yeah, well, what did you expect?” Dove Clifton-Hartfield, the name on the lease, leaned on the doorframe, Bozo cozily nestled up against her pink satin pajamas. “There’s a reason your name is Bozo, isn’t that right my majestic-little-fluff-ball?” Her bob cut shook as she coddled the large black cat. Bozo’s single eye seemed to track her hair, marvelled by its shine.

“Yeah, that’s why we love him.” Dency replied, not tearing her eyes away from her murder board.

“You wanna go get breakfast?”

“Ready when you are.”

“No, you’re not,” Dove said, perching on Dency’s bed, Bozo still in tow.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not; you look like you went out depression-drinking last night only to end up having a one night stand with a lawn mower.” Dency’s face crinkled at that description. She couldn’t quite form a response back. Dove leaned over, past Dency, trying to get a glimpse at her board. “Any success last night?”

“Well, there’s one less pack of imps that can terrorize the world. Other than that, no.” Dency paused, then remembered: “Actually, scratch that, some knowledge was gained. If an imp master is gifted with fire immunity, so are the imps.” She angled her face to best catch the sun streaming in through the giant floor-to-ceiling windows in her room. “Three guesses as to how I learned that one,” Dency added with a pawky grin.

Dove overdid a look of disgust as a response. “Guess we should add that to the book,” she said. “Hey angel-baby-beautiful-boy,” she cooed at Bozo, “will you go get the Book of Shadows?” Bozo dutifully hopped off Dove’s lap and exited the room.

“Dude. There’s no way that cat’s bringing you the Book.”

“Yeah, well, there’s also no way staring at that board is going to get you any new answers.” Dency flipped off her roommate. Dove stuck out her tongue in response. “We’ll leave in twenty,” she said, brushing the Bozo hair off her pink pajamas as she exited the room.

Dency stared at her board. Dove was right, and she knew it. She could stare at this board for hours on end, she wasn’t going to get anything new. She needed the missing piece of the puzzle, but she’d settle for breakfast.

She eyed her leather jacket on the floor. It was pretty shredded. Nothing she could wear out today, but maybe with a couple more well placed cuts she could make it into a kind of look? Or she could just magic it back together. Her family heavily discouraged against that, but, like, this was a really nice jacket. And she liked to think herself a little more immune to the personal gain laws given her, um, heritage, so to speak. The rules didn’t apply to demons. Either way, the jacket was a no go for breakfast, giving Dency the time to weigh whether or not this was worth one of her cosmic passes. She kicked the jacket to the side and walked into her bathroom.

This was the first time seeing her reflection, and, um,  _ wow _ . She knew she looked pretty banged up; she could easily feel the cuts, but this was… kinda next level. She still had makeup on from the night before that had been partially cleaned off at Jack’s, leaving her eyes racoon smudged. Her hair was messy and parts of her fringe still had dried blood on it. And then, of course, there was the fact that she was covered in small cuts. Way more small cuts that could ever possibly be explained. Fight with a pack of gerbils, one night stand with a lawn mower, and Dency’s gonna add shoved in a food processor to really paint that picture. She looked ridiculous. Mm, not quite. She looked pathetic. Whatever! She grabbed her makeup remover and some cotton rounds and started to strip away last night’s eyeliner. With her one open eye she started to scan for clothes. Something long sleeved, obvi.

She headed back into her room proper, over to the dresser on the far side next to the sliding mirror that held even more clothes. That was the thing most people didn’t guess about Dency: she had an expansive wardrobe. Yes, her style was usually more of a disheveled chic vibe and for the most part was just old band t-shirts from the club her aunt used to own, but there was a method to the madness. A curated grunge vibe. It also made it like ten times easier to sneak around the underworld, not that that was an activity that Dency did with any frequency (for legal purposes).

She shuffled through her clothes, trying to find something she didn’t like. She wasn’t bleeding anymore, but with her movement she could feel some of the cuts along her arms and back tugging, and if they ended up reopening and getting blood on a shirt she actually liked she might have to figure out a way to bring imps back from the dead just so she could kill them again. She fished out an ill fitting long sleeve that she got for free at some school carnival or fair or something; it was purple with text reading Northwestern and the school’s logo printed in white across the chest. She mainly only wore it as a pajama shirt. Perfect. 

Next stop was pants. She could keep wearing her skinny jeans from last night; the cuts didn’t seem horrendously out of place, it was just the fact that she had cuts all over her legs to match might send weird signals. But, like, did she really wanna put on another pair of jeans? Sweatpants were an option; they wouldn’t chafe against her open wounds. But then she’d be wearing sweatpants and a college t-shirt. And she was Dency Motherfuckin’ Halliwell, man, she couldn’t do that.

She drifted back into the bathroom, opting to focus on her makeup instead of her outfit. She took another long look at herself in the mirror.  _ Oof. _ She soaked a washcloth in warm water and started to run it across her face, tracing weird patterns as she dodged all the bandages littering her face. She breathed in deep as she did, as if trying to breathe some life or healing energy back into her skin. God, what she would give for the ability to heal. She mused over the idea of going to Penn again, the thought pulled up unwillingly from the recesses of her brain. She opened her eyes and once again looked at herself in the mirror. Fuck it, she looked fine. At the very least, she’s looked a lot worse and recovered from it all right. Besides, it wasn’t like she was gravely wounded. The only thing that really took a blow was her pride. Like, what, was she gonna show up at the manor with her tail between her legs explaining that she got beat up by a pack of imps? Yeah, that gossip would move like wildfire. Hard pass. She was fine. She grabbed her eyeliner with renewed purpose. She was fine.

It took her twenty minutes to do her makeup alone, but Dove wasn’t pressing. Whenever she gave out deadlines, she was always lying.  _ We’ll leave in twenty _ was code for  _ you have an hour and a half to get ready before I actually start bitching _ ;  _ I’ll be ready in ten _ was code for  _ I will take the next hour refining my look, you literally have a teleportation power; we’ll be fine _ . It was funny, though. Dove’s statements rarely set off Dency’s lie detector. It was as if she genuinely believed them in the moment, and the second she picked up a hairbrush, realized that there was no way that was going to happen.

Dency spritzed some dry shampoo in her now blood free hair, rustling it into shape. She was striking. She knew it, too. In fact, she was kind of hoping her darkly framed eyes and deep berry lip would keep people distracted enough they might not notice the bandaids. Of course, it was never gonna happen, but no harm in hoping. Dency caught herself on that statement, rolling it around in her head. No harm in hoping for something stupid that’s never gonna happen and you know it’s just kind of like a funny joke. That’s harmless, for the most part. Okay, she was satisfied with that revision.

Full makeup look complete, it was time to actually move on to wardrobe. Lucky for Dency, she was a visionary. At some point in between putting on mascara and cleaning the flecks of blood she missed off her ear, she had stitched together the perfect outfit. She headed straight for the sliding mirrors, pulling one of them back to reveal countless clothes on hangers. She shuffled through and found a tiered black maxi skirt. She peeled off her skinny jeans, but was immediately distracted by how fucked up her legs looked. Well, they looked like the rest of her, but she really didn’t realize how many small slices the jeans hid. She took a quick break to duck back into her bathroom, slapping some ointment and band-aids on the really gnarly ones. It was no worries. She was fine.

Skirt on, she grabbed a black camisole that walked the fine line between pajamas and actual shirt, and layered it underneath a loose fitting long sleeve crop top (also in black, because of course it was). Top the look off with a hat, add a couple pieces of spiky jewelry and her septum ring, and Dency was looking much more herself than she did in a college t-shirt. She eyed herself in the mirror. She could make this better. She grabbed a pair of fishnet fingerless gloves out of her sock drawer, popping them on and flexing her fingers. Yes.

She stacked a couple more rings around the mid digits of her fingers, trying to balance them all around the one ring she never took off: a large sterling silver piece inlaid with a massive hunk of rose quartz, surrounded by small etchings of greek symbols. That ring never left her fourth finger on the right hand — not the wedding hand, but Dency did like to fantasize (when she was feeling particularly sappy) that if she were ever to get married, she would just move the ring over from one hand to the other. She twiddled her fingers a little, letting the pink stone catch the light. She almost indulged herself into some fantasy of finding love and getting married, but, ew, lmao. Um, no. She was just going to focus on whatever it was she was focusing on right now. Being in her twenties. Vanquishing demons. Not getting her loved ones killed, you know, standard stuff. Besides, much easier to keep that “loved ones” list short, that way there were less people to worry about, amirite? Dency laced up a pair of Docs and left the room.

Dove was in the kitchen, adding some lettering onto the imp page in their book of shadows. The whole thing looked less like a grimoire and more like a bujo, but it’s leatherbound cover was also embossed with “Sexy Bitches’ Book of Shadows <3,” yes, with the heart looking like a less than three symbol, so, like, professionality really wasn’t what these girls were going for. Half of the stuff in there was basically a direct copy from the Halliwell Book of Shadows, but the difference between that book and this book was, well, it was that one of them was a sacred tome passed down through generations and the other one had washi tape in it, but no. The difference was Dency could access this one without getting any family involved. Also reading the text in the actual Book always made Dency’s head swim. For the life of her she could not properly read a vanquish out of that book. This one, however, was made with extra care and by that I do mean extra large letters not written in cursive, so Dency could usually muddle her way through it. She was still no good at reading spells on the spot though — even if it was all legible she would always end up switching the word order. However, nothing terrible had happened because of that. Yet.

Dove had swapped out her pink pajamas for a royal blue jumpsuit cinched at the waist. Paired with a couple stacked gold necklaces and a strappy pair of Jimmy Choo’s, Dove looked more fit to walk Milan Fashion Week than go to the girl’s favorite breakfast joint, but, to be fair, she almost always looked like this. She finished lettering the “y” in immunity and looked up at her roommate. Her eyes raked Dency over, passing judgement on the new look.

“I clean up nice, huh?” Dency said, offering a little twirl, landing in a half perch on the table Dove currently sat at.

“You’re supposed to let me say that,” Dove responded.

“I didn’t have faith that you would.”

Dove smirked as she closed the Sexy Bitches’ Book of Shadows <3, tucking it back away on the kitchen counter, nestled between cookbooks. She shot Dency a look over her shoulder. “You clean up nice.”

“Why thank you.”

Dove fished her car keys out of the misc dish on the kitchen counter. For the most part the girls used Dency’s teleportation power to get around — parking in the city was always a bitch — but there were certain places one couldn’t just flame into. A mortal brunch-centric cafe was one of them. Lucky for the two of them, Dove not only had her license, she also had a car. A nice one. It was a gift from her parents for her sixteenth birthday, just like this apartment they lived in was a gift from her parents for her twenty-third birthday. Hell, half of Dove’s stuff was gifts from her parents — she was the spoiled only child of, like, a kajillionaire, but at least she knew how to share. With Dency. Not so much with anyone else. 

The pair exited the apartment down to the private garage that housed Dove’s cherry red car. Making light conversation, Dove asked: “So, how’s Jack?”

“Oh. You know. Fine,” Dency answered, glossing over the fact she really didn’t talk with Jack at all about how he was. He seemed fine. She’d be able to tell if he wasn’t.

Dove nodded, accepting that dead end. She hit the subject that Dency really wanted to talk about. “How’s your murderboard going?”

Dency waited until the two girls were both in the car, doors closed, before she started talking. It looked like there was no one else in the garage, but trusting only what you can see was one of the fastest ways to get yourself killed. Or at least get yourself summoned up to the heavens for a council with The Elders. “I wanna do a seance,” she said. Dove rolled her eyes as she started the engine, telling Dency she had just said the dumbest string of words in the English language. “Come on! I couldn’t get anything from the imps and now I’m at a dead end. A seance is the surest way to get me the answers I need.”

“Okay, first of all: no. Second of all: no! And third of all don’t get me involved as an accessory to your breaking of the divine rules.”

“Look, it’s not like the guy doesn’t know about magic; he was murdered by that pack of imps.”

“So you say,” Dove said, pulling on a pair of shades as she pulled out into the street. It was an oddly sunny day for San Francisco. A bad omen, perhaps.

“So I know,” Dency countered, shrinking like a violet as the sun washed over her. “Because, look, if he was murdered by imps summoning his spirit from the beyond doesn’t break the-”

“ _ If  _ he was murdered by imps.”

“He was murdered by imps.”

“You just said if.”

Dency grumbled in frustration. “Okay. He was murdered by imps. Full stop. Ergo, he knows about magic. Ipso facto, me summoning him does not go against the rule of summoning mortals in a seance because that rule solely exists to keep magic a secret. Magic is not a secret to this guy anymore, so… case closed.”

“Okay, just because you incorporated Latin into your argument does not make you a lawyer — I don’t even think you did it right-”

“Objection.”

Dove sneered at Dency. Dency smiled right back. “And even if that is the argument you’re going for, you’re forgetting one major detail: The Elders hate you, babe.”

“Yeah,” Dency moaned, “but, like, what are they gonna do about it?”

“Don’t ask that.”

“I mean, come on, what are they gonna do about it?” she pressed. Dove’s frustration was obviously building as she tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel. “I’m the daughter of a Charmed One, they can’t, like, kill me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also The Source of All Evil, so, maybe they can.”

“Please, if they were gonna kill me for that they would have done it by now.”

They hit a red light, giving Dove the time to serve Dency an icy cold glare. Dency looked up at her friend in response, fire burning across her eyes, leaving only black voids in its wake. It wasn’t a trick Dency did often. It always left her with this buzzing feeling — a sudden burst of energy, like she had just downed a Red Bull or something. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it kind of felt good. It was a power rush, a flow of energy, strength. But that strength came from the essence of the Source still stuck on her soul, so it wasn’t without its cost. Dency didn’t like feeding that beast, giving into her Source side, but, on the other hand, Dency also didn’t like passing up a chance to be dramatic. With a blink her eyes were back to their normal deep brown, casting aside the demonic void.

Dove didn’t seem amused. “You better not put me in a situation I can’t buy my way out of.”

“You don’t have to do anything! I can do it all myself.”

“That’s not what I meant, Dency. I only have one friend — one — and it’s the asshole sitting in the front seat.”

“Aww,” Dency said, giving Dove a shove on the shoulder.

“Don’t ‘aww’ me; it’s not a joke. If they end up wiping you from existence I’m gonna find some way to bring you right back and I’ll beat you up with a baseball bat.”

“You’re gonna find a comatose, powerless me and beat the shit outta me with a Louisville Slugger?”

“You heard me.” Dove slid her shades down, eyes narrowing: parking spot. She seemed to leave the conversation with Dency behind and directed all her attention to parallel parking. Dency rustled about in her seat. She wanted to keep talking about her murder board and the benefits of a seance, but the conversation seemed to be dead in the water. She just had to figure out a way to bring it up again.

Dove put the car in park, taking her shades off and tucking them in her neckline. She faced Dency. “What?” Dency asked.

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re actually going to drop the seance thing, or if you just went quiet all of a sudden because you’re going to do it without telling me.”

“Oh,” Dency said, adjusting out of her slouch, “no.”

“No: you’re not gonna drop it, or no: you’re not gonna do it without telling me?”

“Both,” Dency replied.

“Good,” Dove said. “I want to be there when it all goes to shit.” She slammed her car door shut.

“That’s a promise I can keep,” Dency said with a wide grin.

Dove rolled her eyes, pushing past Dency into the restaurant. She started to head to the maître d', but stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, motherfucker.”

“What?” Dency asked, following Dove into the restaurant.

“Dency, get out of here, now!” Dove hissed. Dency grabbed Dove’s arm, instinctually moving her behind her. Her eyes darted around the restaurant, trying to figure out how bad this was going to be. No way she was leaving. Her eyes clocked the issue at hand.

“Shit!”

She should have just left.


End file.
